


Fight Or Flight (Or Door Number Three)

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, F/M, Post-Episode: s05e07 The Curious Case of Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing some really strange stuff after his stint in the military, Clint becomes a hunter - and a damn good one. But when an angel who seems to see into his soul shows up, claiming that he's needed to save the world, Clint gets involved with the infamous Winchester brothers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fight or Flight (Or Something Better)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/365705) by [neierathima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neierathima/pseuds/neierathima). 



Clint didn't mean to become a hunter.

He liked being in the military; he was good at. Aside from the circus and stealing, it was the only thing he had ever been good at. But one bad week _("what is_ _that thing?!")_  and he's being let out with an honorable discharge, a bucketful of medals, and more dead platoon members _(friends)_  than he cares to remember. It was basically a "thanks for your time, now get lost and don't talk." Did they seriously expect him to just forget what he'd seen? Forget the fact that the last target he'd taken out had had _fangs?_ No, Clint wasn't that kind of man. He couldn't just drink himself into oblivion like so many others had.

So he kept moving. All his life that's what he'd done, after all. First going from orphanage to orphanage, then running from said orphanages, then the circus that hopped from state to state, then he bounced around looking for jobs (usually not of the legal variety), and lastbut oh, certainly not leasthe was in the military, and you could guess how well that went down.

Finding information of the supernatural world was harder than he thought it would be. Most of the stuff in the loreif there even _was_ lore for some of the shitwas crap, and the stuff that was true was so weird that he found himself unsure of himself about 90% of the time. Luckily he ran into a couple of guys who helped him learn what he needed to know, which was good. They referred him to a man named Fury, someone who had been in the hunting business about as long as he'd been alive. Fury sent Clint on the right path, and, soon enough, Clint was making a name for himself as someone who got to job done.

Now, a full twelve years since he'd been that newbie hunter, Clint was still on the move. He hadn't stayed in one place for more than a month, so he'd practically been everywhere in the U-S-of-A. This also meant that Clint could see when he was being followed.

It had started early June. Clint had just been wrapping up a vampire nestfifteen of them against just him; it had been awesomewhen he noticed the woman. He was at this local bar, _The Drunk Chicken_ (seriously?), celebrating the fact that all of the bloodsuckers were dead when he first caught sight of her. She had dark brown wispy hair that was tucked up into a ponytail, with small bangs that fell into her eyes every once in a while. She wore a black V-neck t-shirt under a gray leather jacket and grey form-fitting jeans. Clint had forced himself not to look at her, because she was definitely watching him.

It kept happening over the next few weeks. Six bars, seven restaurants, and even a funeral home. Clint was at bar number seven when he was finally drunk enough and angry enough (he hadn't been able to save a six-year-old girl in his latest hunt) that he wanted some action; he wanted to confront her.

He turned on his barstool and looked directly at her, staring until she finally met his gaze. Even though her expression stayed blank, she seemed surprised to have been found out. Clint jerked his head towards the back door, the one that lead to the ally, and started walking towards it before he got confirmation from her that she would follow. He had a feeling she would.

Clint took a large gulp of the fresh evening air as he entered the ally, trying to clear his head slightly. He was definitely on the drunk side, but he knew if she meant him harm he could still defend himself.

The door behind him opened and then slammed shut again, and he could feel another person's presence behind him. He turned and, sure enough, saw the brown-haired girl who had followed him through five states over four and a half weeks.

"Clinton Barton, I've been looking for you," she said calmly, tilting her head ever so slightly.

Something inside of Clint snapped at the indifferent way she talked to him, at the fact that she'd been following him for _weeks_ for no apparent reason. "Yeah? Well, you found me," he spat at her. Then he swung.

The girl twirled away just in time, her expression surprised and slightly annoyed. Clint's fist went right through air, but his anger was still there, and he wasn't afraid to hit a woman. He stepped into a ready stance and took her in. The girla woman, really, maybe a few years younger than he himself waswas looking him over with a calculating gaze. Her hands were raised palms out in a placating manner, but there was nothing afraid about her. She stood ready for a fight, and Clint knew instantly that she wouldn't just lie down and give in, no, she'd take what he gave her and return it tenfold.

"I do not wish to fight you, Captain Barton. I only wish to talk," she said in the same calm tone as before.

Clint snarled, booze just adding fuel to his fire, and pounced. He swung once, twice, three times, and she blocked them all easily, taking measured steps backwards as he moved forwards. After a few more swings hit air, he yelled out and kicked upwards, aiming for her stomach. She moved lightning quick, however, grabbing his leg in a vice-like grip. Then she twisted quickly, causing Clint to twist with her grasp, and he landed on his back.

Before he could get back up, the woman kneeled over him, pinning him to the ground. "I can see for my words to have any affect I need to talk to a sober you. So get some rest, and I'll talk to you in the morning," she said, and before Clint could do anything, she pressed two fingers to his forehead and the world faded into darkness.

* * *

Clint woke up face down on the bed in the same crappy motel room he had gotten two days before. He was shirtless and shoeless but still wearing the day before's jeans, which was kind of a relief. The comforter was kicked to the floor but the sheet was still tucked around his waist.

He closed his eyes and pretended for a moment that the night before didn't happen. He got drunk, stumbled to the motel, went to bed. The usual. That's all.

"Captain Barton, if you would stop pretending to be asleep, that would be lovely, thank you," the same calm voice from the night before said. _I'm dreaming, please let me be dreaming._ Clint peaked open one eye, then bolted upright at the sight before him.

The girl from the night before who had knocked him out with a single touchseriously, _what the hell?!_ was currently sitting at the small table in his motel room, eating pancakes, of all things.

"Are you hungry?" She said, her voice never leaving that same calm tone as every other time she had spoken. She nodded her head towards the table, and Clint saw another plate laid out with pancakes on it. Clint sighed and got to his feet, walking over and sitting across from her. He almost moaned from how good the pancakes tastedhe hadn't had a really good breakfast in a long time.

After a few minutes of silenceand of Clint shoveling food into his mouthClint cleared his throat and looked at the girl suspiciously. "So...what are you? 'Cause last time I checked, humans couldn't knock people unconscious with a touch," he said, going for offhand and coming out a bit closer to tense.

The girl looked up at him evenly, putting her fork down and straightening up a bit. "My name is Maria. I'm an angel of the lord."

Clint simply rose his eyebrows, not reacting other than that. Five months ago Clint would've definitely demanded some proof to that statementit wasn't that he was against the idea of angels, if there were demons that why not their fluffy opposites?but recently there had been rumors that a pair of hunters had been dealing with angels; hell, there had been rumors of the freaking apocalypse. Go figure.

"Alright," Clint replied. "So what does the god squad want with little ol' me?"

The angel rose her eyebrows, expressing more emotion than she ever had before. "I'm surprised you just accept that. One of my brothers had to take a man through time to get him to truly believe."

Clint waved a hand through the air in dismissal. "It just makes sense, I guess. If there are demons then why wouldn't there be angels? Besides, I've been hearing rumors about hunters working with angels. Would you rather I be difficult?"

The angel looked amused, and shook her head.

"Great," Clint clasped his hands together. "Now, why are you here?"

Maria the angel straightened up a bit, her expression once again falling into that calm-seriousness that Clint was slowly getting used to. "When Lucifer fell, he was trapped in the deepest part of hell; it was called the cage. There were six-hundred and sixty-six seals keeping the cage locked; to break open the cage you only need to break sixty-six of the seals. Over the last year all sixty-six were broken, and Lucifer is now free."

Clint stared at Maria in shock. The freaking _devil_ was _free?_ That was just great. "And how do I fit into this?" He asked cautiously.

Maria hesitated, and then seemed to make up her mind about something. "Head for Sioux Falls, South Dakota. It is approximately a ten hour drive from here."

The two stared at each other for another minute, Clint hoping for maybe some more information, the angel simply staring back. Finally Clint sighed and nodded, giving in. He stood up and headed towards where his bag was to get a fresh pair of clothes and pack everything away for the long drive ahead of him.

"You coming with me, angel?" Clint asked offhandedly. When there was no response, he turned around and saw that she was gone with barely a sound. He rolled his eyes. "Well, it can't be said they don't work in mysterious ways."

* * *

Clint had been driving for exactly ten hours and forty-two minutessix-hundred and seventy mileswith only four breaks for food and bathroom. And he was tired. So, as soon as he saw the sign that said _'Welcome to Sioux Falls'_ he pulled up to the first motel he saw, got a room, and collapsed onto his bed.

Clint took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax for a few minutes, before sitting back up and unloading some of his weapons. A few of the arrow-heads needed sharpening, and the guns definitely needed cleaning.

Clint was quite methodical when it came to his weapons, especially his bow, so he practically checked out whenever cleaning them. However, there was no way he could miss the person who just blinked into existence with a _swoosh_ in the middle of his motel room.

The hunter popped instantly to his feet, leveling a gun at the new comer. It was a man, approximately 5'8", with golden blonde hair and similarly colored eyes. Clint narrowed his eyes and then lowered the gun, sitting back down at the table. "Can you clean a gun?" He asked, not looking at the man.

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw the man lift his eyebrows and then nod. He approached the table and sat across from Clint. His smile was open and friendly, but there was something dangerous in his eyes.

"Ya' know," the man said cheerily as he picked up a gun and began cleaning it. "Most hunters that I pop in on don't lower their guns; and they definitely don't _give_ me their guns."

Clint rolled his eyes, bringing an arrow-head up to his eye and inspecting it. Deeming it sharp enough, he put it to the side and picked up a berretta. "Well, you're an angel, aren't you?" The man looked surprised, but nodded. "Ten hours ago I was visited by an angel, and she told me to come here. So, assuming you two are working together, which makes sense, because why else would you both come to me? Anyway, if you're working together, then this is a pretty elaborate plan if you were just going to kill me," he looked up at the angel. "That's why I lowered my gun."

The angel was silent for a minute before he grinned. "Oh, I _like_ you. I'm gonna keep you." He extended his hand for Clint to shake, and the hunter did. "I'm Gabriel, and frankly I'm here to tell you to leave Sioux Falls."

Clint rose his eyebrows in surprise. Firstly, he was sitting across from a freaking archangel. And second- "why would you want me to leave? I _just_ got here. What would be the point? What was the point of me being here in the first place?"

Gabriel winced, staring down at a 9mm as he cleaned it. "Yeah, see, the thing is, baby sister has it all wrong. She's working with little bro Cassie, who thinks they can just slide under the radar if they have all the chips in their court. They're kind of not so friendly with heaven right now, which, frankly, neither am I, but that's besides the point. _I_ know that the only way to get through this is to play into destiny, and you going where Maria is leading you won't be good for me, or you, or Michael or Lucifer."

Clint stared at the archangel in wonder. "Okay, you know half of the stuff you just said makes no sense to me, right? I only have about a quarter of the story." Gabriel looked at him in exasperation, but he also looked slightly agitated. "Where am I going, anyway? What's in Sioux Falls?"

"A guy named Bobby Singer, he'sah, I see you've heard of him," Gabriel said at Clint's expression. And Clint had. Bobby was the guy Clint called whenever he was dealing with a really weird case for either some advise or to send backup. One of the last times they'd talked had been over two years ago when a Hell's Gate had opened and there was a surge of demons.

"Bobby Singer is sort of like a father to these two knuckleheads called the Winchesters, who of course you've heard of. Well, they're the ones who kick started judgment day. CassieCastiel is his full nameis the angel that rebelled against Heaven for them, disobeying a direct order to try and save the world, yada yada. So the Winchesters are currently at Singer's place, and Castiel and Maria both want you there."

"Why?" Clint stressed, putting down his gun. "What's so special about me?"

Gabriel simply grinned. "Sorry, boy-o. Even _I_ won't break the lock on that piece of information."

Clint growled in frustration. He pressed his palms against his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. After a few moments he lowered his hands and looked but up, but Gabriel was gone. Sitting on top of Clint's 9mm was a piece of paper; he picked it up. It said,  _'Don't tell anyone I was here. -G'._

Clint came to a decision. _If no one's going to tell me anything substantial, then I'll go right to the center of it all._ Clint put his guns away, and made a plan to go find Bobby Singer.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Clint woke up bright and early so he could finish cleaning his weapons before heading out to see Bobby Singer. He knew the older hunter would probably be upset and grumble if Clint arrived too early, and, if the Winchesters were there, it would just make them annoyed, as well.

Clint had worked with John Winchester a couple of times, when he was still pretty new to hunting. The man had been a real hardass, but he'd pushed Clint to be his best, and Clint had been sad when he'd learned that John had passed away. Although Clint had never actually met them, John had told him a lot about his sons, and Clint was curious about meeting themespecially since they were so involved with this end of the world crap.

At nine a.m., after having gotten directions to _Singer Salvage Yard_ off of Google, Clint headed to the home of the famous (among hunters, at least) Bobby Singer, nerves swirling in his gut. He'd only actually met Bobby once, since he didn't count all the times he'd called him for advice as actual meetings. He half expected them to immediately turn him away, not believing him when he said he'd been sent by an angel. He considered telling them about Gabriel, too, but decided that complying with an archangel's request was probably the better route to take.

Ten minutes after leaving the motel, Clint came upon the property line of _Singer Salvage Yard,_ a sign and a chain-link fence alerting him to that fact. Clint got out of the car and walked around to the front of it, eyeing the padlock on the gate. He briefly considered taking the bolt cutters in his trunk and removing it so that he could take his car with him up to Bobby's house, but decided not to, figuring that that would be kind of rude.

He grabbed a few guns and knives from the trunk of his car, along with a bottle of holy water. He hid the weapons along various parts of his bodyhe didn't know if the Winchester brothers would be friend or foe yet, so it was better to be prepared. The holy water was just a precaution.

Clint skillfully climbed up the fence and dropped to the ground on the other side, scanning his surroundings. To either side of him were rows of cars, and ahead of him was a path that curved to the left and disappeared. Clint started down the path, figuring it would lead to the house. After about a minute, he saw he was right, coming upon a beaten down house that looked like it had once been a really nice shade of blue. Sitting out front was a beat up old truck and a beautiful black car. Clint walked up to it and admired it silently. _From the sixties, maybe. Definitely an Impala. Chevy?_ He checked the front. _Yup, Chevy._

Clint was pulled from his marveling at the sound of footsteps behind him. Instinctively Clint pulled the gun from his waistband and clicked off the safety, turning around quickly while he did.

The hunter steadied his gun at the man standing in front of him, who, in response to Clint's movements, pulled a gun as well. The man had short spikey brown hair, bright green eyes, and a hardened expression. This man had clearly seen a lot of things no one should have to see. Clint could relate.

"You one of the Winchesters?" Clint asked, assuming the man would have to be.

The man looked him over, clearly weighing his options of saying anything. "Yeah," he finally settled on. "And _you_ are?"

Clint smiled easily and flicked the safety back on, shoving the gun back into his waistband at his lower back and under his shirt. He nodded towards the Impala with an appreciative whistle. "She yours? 'Cause if so, you have made me one jealous bastard."

The manprobably Dean, John had always described Sam with longer hair, not cut short like the man's wasstill didn't lower his weapon, his hard expression never softening. When he stayed still and still said nothing, Clint figured he should speak up.

"Are you gonna test me, _Dean,_  or are we just gonna stand here and make googly-eyes at each other? I'm sure you have some holy water and silver on you, just do itI don't bite," Clint tilted his head, as if in thought, and grinned. "Well, I don't bite _much._ _"_

Dean slowly lowered his weapon, eyeing Clint distrustfully, and pulled a flask (probably filled with holy water) and a silver knife out of his jacket pockets. He approached slowly, as if waiting for Clint to attack. When he got within four feet of Clint, Dean uncapped the flask and flicked his wrist, dousing Clint's face with water.

Clint sighed, wiping his face off on his sleeve. "You could've just splashed some on my wrist," he said conversationally, "or, ya' know, just let me drink it." Dean snorted and glared a bit more, but still didn't say anything. He reached forward with the knife, handle out for Clint to take, and the other hunter did just that. He pulled up his sleeve and made a small cut with the blade, barely wincing at the familiar feel. "Happy now?" He asked sarcastically.

Dean shrugged, but looked satisfied. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Clint shrugged his shoulders to loosen them up some, and rolled his sleeve back down. "My name's Clint Barton-" there was recognition in Dean's eyes, "-and would you believe me if I said an angel sent me?"

The other hunter's eyes widened slightly and then narrowed, and he began walking towards the house. "Depends on your story," he called back over his shoulder. "Come on in, my brother and Bobby will want to hear this, too." Clint nodded, even though Dean wasn't looking, and followed him to the house.

They entered the house and Clint let the door slam shut behind him. Another manbrown, floppy hair; probably Samwas sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a laptop. He didn't look up when they came in, but he spoke. "Hey, Dean, I think I've got a lead in Wellington, Ohio; this guy was-" suddenly the-man-who-was-probably-Sam cut off as he caught sight of Clint standing behind Dean, and a confused frown overtook his features. "Who's this?"

"Sam, this is Clint Bartonyes, _that_ Clint Barton," he added at Sam's wide-eyed look, "where's Bobby? This guy here has a story to tell us." Sam stood up, still frowning and looking sort of like an overgrown puppy, but he kept glancing at Clint in what looked like awe.

"He's in the main room," Sam said absently, and led them through a small hall into another room. On the ceiling was a large and intricate devil's trap, and books were stacked along the walls. There was a ratty old couch, and a desk in front of a fireplace. Sitting at the desk was an older man that Clint instantly recognized as Bobby Singer.

"Hey Bobby," Clint said with a smile when the man looked up from the book he was reading. "It's been a while; it's good to see you."

Bobby gave a half smile. "Clint! That you, boy?" When Clint nodded, Bobby's smile grew. "Well, if it hasn't been ages! It's been ten years since I saw you, a year since you called! You become too good of a hunter, don't need my advice anymore?"

Clint laughed, stepping further into the room and past the Winchester brothers. "No, Bobby, you'll always be the master. I've just been thrown some pretty simple cases, a vampire nest here, a rouge wolf there; haven't needed advice 'cause there's nothing hard happening. Almost like the monsters are cowering." Bobby's eyes slid away from him quickly, sharing a glance with the Winchesters. "Which actually brings me to why I'm here."

"Why are you here?" Sam piped in. "Not that I'm not glad to meet you, I am, you have quite the good reputation and Dad used to talk about you, but why come? If you needed help from Bobby you could've just called."

Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway to the room. "He said he was sent by an angel," the hunter paused and then sighed, annoyed. "Man, how is that our life now?"

When Sam and Bobby both turned to him with questioning eyes, Clint nodded and sat down on the couch, figuring he might as well get comfortable. "It's true. For the past few months I've been noticing this woman following me. No matter what I did to lose her, she always seemed to find me. So a couple of days ago I was at a bar and just drunk enough to want to confront her; so, I did. She put two fingers to my forehead and knocked me clean out." The three other men shared a look, and Clint continued. "When I woke up, she said her name was Maria and she was an angel, and I needed to go to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and meet up with the Winchester brothers, help them in anyway I could."

"Why you?" Sam asked softly.

Clint shrugged, leaning back. "Hell if I know. When I asked, she just changed the subject. And..." Clint hesitated; one the one hand, telling them about Gabriel meant going against an archangel's directions and that was pretty suicidal. On the other hand, keeping things from the Winchesters could come back to bite him in the ass. Clint decided to go down the middle. "And then when I got to Sioux Falls, this other angel stopped by. He said that I should turn around and leave. He said that Maria and some angel named Castiel thought having all the cards in their hands would be good, but he just wanted me to lay low and wait everything out. When I asked him why me, he said that not even _he_ would 'break the lock' on that piece of information."

Everyone was silent for a minute, and then Dean straightened up. "Castiel, get your feathery ass to Bobby's house." Clint frowned, about to ask if Dean was insane for talking to air, but then there was a _woosh_ and a man in a black suit and long trench coat appeared. Clint barely stopped himself from pulling his gun, only the knowledge that it was an angel keeping him from his instincts.

"You called, Dean?" The angel said in a deep and gravely voice.

"Yeah, hey, Cas," Dean said, standing up straight and moving further into the room. "What's his deal? Why do you and this Maria chick want him here?"

The angelCastielturned and looked at Clint. He took a few steps closer until be was barely a foot from Clint, so Clint stood up, crossing his arms over his chest in slight discomfort; the angel stared at him intensely.

"Maria was right, it is quite remarkable..." Castiel murmured quietly to himself, eyes running over the length of Clint's body. The odd thing was he didn't seem to be looking just at Clint's body, but looking beneath that; like he was looking straight to his soul.

"What's remarkable? Why am I here?" Clint asked, feeling slightly annoyed. Castiel frowned and shook his head slightly, as if coming out of a daze, and took a few steps away.

"Is there a specific reason you called me here, Dean?" He asked, never looking away from Clint.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, Cas! Why'd you want him here? What's so special about him?"

Castiel sighed heavily, finally looking away; Clint barely held in a relieved breath. "It is not my place. Just know that the three of you must protect each other..." His eyes slid back to Clint. "...At all costs." Then, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Changing Channels!


End file.
